Dead by Midnight - Beverly Barton [137]
He passed through the outer office, pausing only long enough to speak to the two secretaries as he made his way straight to his father’s inner sanctum. His father’s assistant, Maggie Stevenson—a plump grandmother of six and a good Christian woman—was nowhere to be seen, which undoubtedly meant that she was still on her lunch break.
In his eagerness to talk to his father, Heath didn’t bother to knock before he opened the office door. What he saw stopped him cold before he took one step over the threshold. Completely naked, her breasts thrust forward and her thighs spread wide apart, Renee sat on the edge of his father’s desk, which was positioned so that Heath had a sidelong view from his stance in the doorway. Grant Leroy, his tailor-made slacks hanging loosely on his hips, stood between his wife’s legs and was pumping into her like a jackhammer boring into concrete.
Transfixed by the sight, Heath couldn’t move. As he watched the intimate act between his father and stepmother, he became aroused, his penis hardening to the point of pain.
Dear God in heaven!
Run, you fool, run.
He managed to get his feet to cooperate long enough to turn around, but when he heard Renee’s orgasmic cries, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing over his shoulder. When he did, she looked right at him as she panted and sighed and gripped his father’s hips, urging him on to achieve his climax.
Swallowing hard, Heath stared at Renee with what he knew was a stricken expression on his face. She had caught him watching them, but did she know that he longed to be there, between her legs, in his father’s place?
Behind his father’s heaving back, she shooed him away with the backward wave of her hand. She had given him a reprieve, silently telling him to go away before his father caught him.
Heath hurried past Maggie’s desk and through the outer office, careful to keep his back to the secretaries so they wouldn’t see his erection. Once safely inside his own office, he closed and locked the door. He immediately dropped to his knees and prayed.
Lorie had spent the rest of the day unable to think of anything other than the kiss she and Mike had shared after lunch. Just remembering the kiss sent her pulse rate into overdrive. It had begun passionately untamed. Hard. Hot. Deep. But it soon became a sensuously lingering expression of their need for each other.
Long after the kiss ended, they had stood together, Mike’s forehead pressed against hers, their breaths mingling, as he held both of her hands down on either side of their bodies. Neither of them had said a word for several minutes. And then Mike had pulled back and walked out of the kitchen.
She hadn’t followed him.
She had cleaned up in the kitchen and then, in the privacy of her bedroom, had called Cathy on her cell phone. After an hour-long heart-to-heart with her best friend, Lorie had ventured into the living room where she found Mike. He had glanced at her, acknowledged her presence, and then promptly ignored her. For the next few hours, they had avoided looking at each other or even talking. He had worked the crossword puzzle in today’s newspaper while she had concentrated on sketching the layout for the tearoom she hoped that she and Cathy could open later this year.
If she were alive later this year.
When Mike’s cell phone rang, Lorie gasped. She’d been lost in her own world of private thoughts and future plans.
Mike tossed the newspaper aside, got up, answered the phone, and paced the floor. Apparently the caller was doing all the talking because Mike didn’t say a word after he identified himself.
Lorie checked her wristwatch. 4:40 P.M.
When she heard Mike say, “Thanks for calling. We’ll see y’all tomorrow,” Lorie shoved her sketch pad into her red leather briefcase and set the case on the floor.
“That